A Temple Testimony

I LOVE to see the Temple.

The Twin Falls Temple in Idaho was the site of my “wrong turn” at the very start of the softening of my heart. Where I stopped and “felt” the building radiate out into the street.

April 20, 2013:  I went on my first proxy Baptism trip to the Seattle Temple just shy of a month after my own baptism. It was that day when I started my father’s work and my forgiveness of him.

October 19, 2013:  I spent my first birthday after my baptism, performing proxy baptisms for my family in the Salt Lake City Temple. Afterwards, I enjoyed a wonderful lunch with the first and only Priesthood Holder who ever asked me out on a date. They served spaghetti at the Salt Lake Temple cafeteria. That's something you don't forget. Fortunately, since I was not yet endowed I was in my street clothes, not a white Temple dress. That was the last date Hyrum and I had, but we remain friends and he has since developed a friendship with my husband.

May 13, 2014:  I received my Endowments at the Seattle Temple, with 3 friends from 2 different Wards. Later that year, I went through Mt. Timpanogos Temple with one of my Sister Missionaries for the proxy Endowments of both my grandmothers.

Since May of 2014, I have befriended many Temple workers in many Wards and Branches. I have even roomed with one while I was needing a place to stay in close proximity to my grandchildren for a holiday season. She helped bolster my Testimony on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. Marian helped me understand Personal Revelation. A Returned Missionary, she helped me trust God. That is a gift I don’t know how to ever repay.

When I visit a Ward, I find myself looking around. The Temple Workers seem to “glow” with light. I went up to an older, beautiful lady one day in the Lacey, Washington Stake Center that I was visiting. I felt I HAD to know; “Did she work at the Temple?” Yes, in fact, she confirmed that she did. The “Glow” had been apparent across the room.

My Patriarchal Blessing explicitly states that I will bless my family on both sides of the veil with the work I perform in the Temple. In the past two years, I have been blessed to catch rides with Temple Workers on many occasions, giving me the opportunity to perform an entire shift’s worth of Proxy Ordinances while I was there.

Snowflake, Arizona Temple

I look at the Temple Ordinance workers with gratitude and amazement. Even though sometimes rather elderly, they seem almost spry. Their minds are clear and their memories amazingly retentive.

This spring, just short of my Temple Recommend needing renewed; I felt an overwhelming compulsion. My best friend (and Visiting Teacher), Anne, had been urging me to not only go to the Temple to perform Proxy Ordinances while she and my other friends worked; she wanted me to volunteer to work there too!

Anne works in the Laundry of the Snowflake Temple, she suggested that I volunteer to work there also. I hesitated, because doing my own laundry is difficult enough for me with a broken back and other chronic pain. But that didn’t deter her. She was convinced I should be working in the Temple with her and several of our friends in our Branch.

In early March, as I was speaking to our Branch President about another matter, the compulsion felt overwhelming. I was attempting to open his office door to leave. The Holy Spirit whispered, “Turn around and ask him…” I knew what the Spirit was speaking to me about. The compulsion was incredibly strong; it was if I could not turn the doorknob I was attempting to reach. “Turn around and ask him,” the Spirit continued to whisper, but I hesitated. I didn’t want to appear too eager, feeling there must be some requirement I didn’t meet. There is no way I felt qualified to work at the Temple. But the Spirit would not cease, so I turned around.

After asking my Branch President if there was some way I could help in the Temple, some place I could volunteer, and if my services would be adequate, I felt relieved of the compulsion for a few days. That Friday when I visited the Snowflake Temple during Anne’s shift, it returned in the Celestial Room.

“Go talk to the Matron,” the whispering Holy Spirit urged. “Why would I want to do that?!” In shock I answered in my thoughts.

“Tell her you want to work here, tell her your experience.” The Spirit would not let up.

I entered the dressing room to ready (and steady) myself. It was crowded, more crowded than I had ever seen. I sought refuge in the lavatory, but even that room seemed overwhelmingly crowded. I prayed for courage in the stall.

Sitting in the Matron’s office, I felt silly to have been so nervous. The Assistant Matron was on duty that night and was a genteel lady with a radiant countenance. She glowed. As I explained the Spirit’s (and Anne’s) urgings, and my experience as a retired computer programmer; she shared with me that there was a spot opening up in the Temple Office. A elderly couple that had been with the office since the opening of the Snowflake Temple in 2002 was retiring. Their shifts would not be easy to fill and they would be missed.

I felt a reassurance from my Heavenly Father. There was a service I felt confident I could perform. To be able to share my skills on computers and office work with the Snowflake Temple and help perform the work that needs to be done, felt like an incredible blessing. The Matron seemed happy to be placing my name on the lists to be approved by my Branch and Stake Presidents.

Over the next couple of weeks, during my Fridays at the Temple, I got to know the Temple Presidency through a couple of very informal interviews. By the time my volunteering in the office was approved by the Stake President, my Temple Recommend was up for renewal for the first time. I had to go in for my interviews again

Then it happened, I received a call asking me to come in for an interview at the beginning of my regular Friday visit. That is a day I will NEVER forget. As my friend Anne escorted me into the Temple President’s office, Elder Bradley Foster of the Seventy appeared to be looking for something on the President’s desk. He engaged me in a brief conversation before the Temple President entered. I wish I remembered that he was the one who gave the talk, “It’s Never Too Early and It’s Never Too Late,” in the October 2015 General Conference that spoke to my heart, but I was too overwhelmed by the situation. When the Temple President entered, I was surprised when I wasn’t to be interviewed, but quickly set apart as an Office Worker, and sent off to meet the rest of the office staff, Recorder and the Assistant Recorder.

I made quick friends with the other new worker and briefly met the retiring couple. My life in the weeks since has been blessed as, among other things, I've been able to learn my tasks at the Temple Office very quickly and life at home seems easier too. I look forward to my Friday Evenings in the Temple every week.

My Testimony of Temple work is solid. I have a powerful Testimony of the Holy Spirit and I strongly agree with President Monson’s directive to “NEVER postpone a prompting.”

I leave this Testimony with you in the name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

My One and Only Sibling

Apparently last week was "International Siblings Day" Facebook. After looking it up on Wikipedia, I discovered that it wasn't invented by Facebook, and I felt bad that I had missed the opportunity to tell the world about my amazing relationship with my brother. My one and only sibling.

The Book of Mormon works in mysterious ways. So does our Heavenly Father. When I was learning the lessons getting ready to be baptized, my brother was also undergoing an immense amount of repentance and pain. Heavenly Father began to soften my heart towards my family again. In particular, towards my brother who I had shut out of my life during his involvement in drugs and then prison.

When I was repenting and contrite upon my knees asking my Heavenly Father for forgiveness, I was also asking Him to bless my family, especially my little brother who was suffering the worse loss a person could imagine. Not only the loss of his child; but the loss of a child, barely an adult, for whom he already felt guilt in regards to his absence while that child was younger. I could not imagine his pain.

I was impressed, since it had been many years since we had even spoken, to write a letter to him. Since I was aware that he had previously investigated The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I was also impressed to include a Book of Mormon.
The other items I included with my letter were a book of stamps so that he could write anyone he wanted to, as well as one self-addressed stamped envelope. I wanted a reply.

The letter with the Book of Mormon reached his residence at an inpatient facility that was mandated by his probation. His return letter indicated that he was also on the path to a baptism. His, by a church near his treatment home.
My brother and I continued to correspond for his remaining time in treatment. When he returned to the area, against the advice of many who remembered the demonic influences in his life and how he embraced them, I decided to meet with him and get to know my little brother again. It had been decades since we had spent a good amount of time alone. The last time we spent time together at all was during a holiday and it ended in disaster and drama.

My little brother was born to our mother and father when we were living in Port Townsend. It was 1970, and I was almost 4 years old. When our parents divorced almost a year after his birth, we remained with mom. It was the two of us against the world. Usually also against our parents, using one against the other like typical children of divorced parents in the 1970s. Only I was allowed to beat up my brother, and I would beat up anyone else who tried. Yes, I was the type of big sister who volunteers in her baby brother's kindergarten class. I loved that kid.

Life in our lives wasn't easy. An angry, abusive step father as well as a biological father who vacillated between being absent and being the worse types of abusive were the father figures we had. Our mother loved us and loved God. She tried to expose us to many different churches so that we could choose for ourselves. This was quite a difficult task, when if we mentioned to dad that we had attended one, we could end up with not only a spanking, but a ring-side seat at a yelling match from hell between our parents. But we attended anyway. As many times as dad asked each of us to deny our God, it was only with a wink to each other and our fingers crossed. Me saying my prayers for forgiveness as well.

Through the typical drama of abusive homes of divorce in the 1970s and 1980s, my brother and I had each other. We could talk about anything. Satan had his way, in many ways in our homes. Finally, a fog of drugs and abuse took my brother from me.

As he furthered his way into the drug world, I separated my young family from his. As his family was being raised by other people, I kept him in my prayers. Then there would come short times when he would sober up, or attempt to hide the fact that he wasn't; and seek to come around. It broke my heart every time I was forced to shut him out of our lives. For my children's sake, it was all I knew how to do.

It was my little brother who called me on an August 2000 morning, to inform me of our father's suicide. Neither one of us had been informed officially, our father's only children, and we were not informed until 10 months after  his death on the weekend of my birthday in 1999. After tearful hours on the phone with his widow, I learned that the timing was not coincidental. In the 15 years that I had not seen or spoken to our father, his abusive obsession with me had not wavered. Our father's suicide was 50 years after his own father had taken his life when our father was 4.

Major Depressive Disorder, among other challenges, run in our family. Both my brother and I have dealt with this challenge ourselves. After our father's death, my brother and I saw each other a few times. He was in and out of prison, and I was raising a family. Our mother kept on me to get in contact with him through the years, but it wasn't until that Book of Mormon that I was impressed to do my best to fix what Satan and our temporal father had attempted through his abuse to tear apart.

Through the summer after I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, my brother and I began to spend a lot of time together. It was the first time since childhood that we had really had the opportunity to get to know one another. I, for one, found in my little brother a friend I never imagined. Someone who knew me, as I knew him. Someone I could give another chance to. Someone I wanted around me.

After a summer full of blessings of the new friendship of siblings, we were put to the test. In October I had been impressed that I had $300 put aside to spend on transportation and I had been frustrated at my lack of a car.  I asked my brother to come with me to see if I could find a car to finance. I had the afternoon before an evening meeting at the Family History Center for my new calling.

As we walked, we crossed a double train track. There was clear visibility both directions for at least a quarter mile. We crossed without hesitation. The Holy Ghost was a wonderful companion while car shopping, and amazed my brother by witnessing to us certain flaws to watch out for in each car. I was happy I had prayed that morning. Everything was wonderfully clear.

On our return trip, after having no luck in the auto venture, we came back the same way. Only this time, there was a train stopped on the tracks closest to us. We looked down each way, the train was at least a quarter mile long in both directions; I thought to myself it was going to be a long walk.

While I was thinking this to myself, my little brother did what he had always done while I was in charge of watching him while we were kids: embraced his impulsivity. He said "let's go" and proceeded to go under the train, stopping to get up between the train tracks before leaning under the train, to beckon me towards him.

I was in absolute shock. I don't remember speaking at all. I do remember how wide my eyes got when I felt Satan attempt to take my brother. I heard a witness by the Holy Ghost: Come BACK NOW!!!! I frantically motioned for him to come back.

For one of the first time in our lives, my baby brother actually listened to me. As he ducked and went back under the train, we felt the ground begin to rumble; before he was standing upright on my side of the tracks, a train was passing at an extremely rapid pace on the track that my brother was nearly standing upon seconds before.

If I had followed him, and not acknowledged and obeyed The Holy Spirit, neither my brother nor I would be alive today. We were so blessed to spend the holidays together for the first time in years as a family with our only living parent, one of my children, and two of my grandchildren. We are a family and we are blessed.

With our grandma, Margaret Ellen Savage Rebman in the 70s

I did end up spending that $300 on transportation, but that's another story on the pile for another time. It, too, is a long one.

Faith of a Bishop

A congregation
Files in a bit late --
The Sabbath
after Christmas
Has the benches a bit sparse.

Aaronic & Bishopric
in a quiet, yet slightly
troubled stirring.
An Aaronic
Priesthood holder
quietly motions to the
Bishop at the podium,
"PLEASE delay,"
Desperation and concern
color his young face.
A worried chorister
agrees in doubtful
confidence with the Bishop
as he gives her quiet direction.
I watch my Bishop --
A man full of faith --
Say a silent prayer
Then ponder
for a quiet moment,
as the congregation
sat in vapid anticipation;
Then cue
to begin
the Sacrament hymn.
Those of us
paying attention --
Those of us
in a front row --
Took notice
of the faith
of our Bishop

To begin
the Sacrament hymn
Before the
bread
had arrived.

As we began
the second verse
of the slow
and reverent words --
a door opened --
bread passed through.
Sighs of relief
were heard;
more than a few.
The faith
of our Bishop
burned strong
in my heart,
as I heard
my own
message from God
about a new start:

Have faith -
say a prayer -
Then softly and gently
push doubt & doubters aside --
this one isn't their ride.

My Best Friend's Role and Absence in My Conversion

It has already started.
Last week, I invited my best friend to join a new church friend and myself to a mid-older singles event.
It was just a little bbq behind a local meetinghouse, but it was where people first assumed I had been baptized by my best friend.

They didn't know just how wrong they were.

Truth be told; I was expecting their assumptions. I expect many more people to assume the same thing. So, before the world jumps to the conclusion that my best friend converted and baptized me, I would like to tell my side of the story, and expose just how much of a misnomer that assumption would be.

I was introduced to Rick, Richard Alexander Larsen Sr., through several people on several different occasions.  He became my best friend after we had both experienced a life event neither one of us had ever imagined: divorce.

Mine was after 22 years of marriage, 3 children and 3 grandchildren. His was after 27 years of marriage 6 children and 14 years of surviving stage IV renal cell carcinoma.
Neither of us were involved in the church at that time.

I would learn of his church history through his words. But I felt his anger at God.

Our histories regarding The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints were opposite: I had once attended sacrament service with a friend of my mother's when I was about 7 years old; He had been born into the light. His family were pioneers in the church, he descended by blood and by Priesthood from Zera Pulsipher & Clarence Larsen. He knew God and our Savior on a personal level. I did not.

We talked about God, Jesus, and spirituality quite constantly. His father and step-mother shared scripture passages with both of us through long phone conversations as well as email messages.

I thought I knew about God; but I did not understand his faith.

But I am getting ahead of myself a bit. When I met Rick, he was in a very dark period of his life. Many people on the outside, and some in his own family, assumed that he had embraced the darkness that appeared to be surrounding him. However, I saw a strange light within him. I was drawn to that light.

He confused, angered and frustrated me.

The intimacy defined by the touch of his forehead upon mine, sweeter than any kiss; left this former teenage mother confused and at times, in despair.
Here was a man who would tell me I was physically beautiful, lovingly call me a spiritually a child, and at the same time say that he also considered me very intelligent! I proceeded to misunderstand his every word.
He appeared extremely attracted to me, but yet did everything within his earthly power to resist acting upon those feelings.

In my mind, we were both divorced adults in our 40's. I saw no evil in the act of physical intimacy. But as he knew, I was spiritually a child. I didn't understand. He did. He tried to teach me. I didn't comprehend what he was attempting to convey.
It was at this point he made a promise to me, to be my friend forever.

My heart was broken. I went searching for answers in the homes of my friends across the country as I traveled and explored the country and the people that I love.

This was October 10, 2010, at 10:10. It was a very binary moment.

I did trust God. I put my life in God's hands as I traveled the country alone. First by train, then by car. First completely alone, only Christ by my side (I prayed constantly); then, in May 2011, my service dog and constant companion, Athena Brooke, joined my travels. Anyone who has ever had a constant companion in a canine knows that there is more of a connection between "dog" and "God" than dyslexia. I swear He communicated through her on several occasions! (but that is a story for another post at another time).

On several occasions, through my travels, (to the complete and utter confusion of many of our family

Rick & Maggie
2011 Denver, Colorado

members and friends) Rick and I spent time together. He would have an extra couch, or tent, and Athena and I would hang out with him and his dogs, until once again my heart would shatter for what I could not create from our friendship and I would resume my travels. I resumed my search.

In February of this year I finally reached the bottom, and finally started asking God some pretty intense questions. In answer I was impressed to resume the work on my genealogy in earnest, as well as to download the Book of Mormon.  But, as soon as I formulated the idea that I may want to get baptized, demons from hell were unleashed against  me.

My spiritual conversion could ONLY happen alone. 

During most of the time leading up to my baptism, our communication was very restrained.
Not by me, as I was flooding his phone with texts and questions, knowing he knew the answers through the scripture better than anyone I knew.  He had shared scripture stories with me for years; whereas I had never read the scriptures myself until this year.
But he was in a dark place, fighting depression and the demons that surrounded him.
When I messaged Rick, asking him if he thought I should be baptized; his answer (in spite of the chuckle I could FEEL on the other side), was a simple "if YOU think you should be."

After that, in the midst of attacks from every son of Satan; I prayed that God would show me the true church and my path. 
At this point in time, on the 6th of March, I silently wished that it had nothing to do with "Rick's" church.
God knows me, He knows my heart, and I felt the overwhelming answer to my prayer:  My granddaughter's church was the true church.
Yes, my granddaughters and their mother and her mother are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.

My path, though, would continue to be a solitary one, in regards to my best friend. I felt him out there.
But in spite of one of the strongest testimonies on earth, he was not attending church.

Speaking of  HIS Testimony, or the reason that the masses would jump to the assumption he converted me; let me expound on that in my brief and broken way:

Rick has survived stage IV renal cell carcinoma for 15 years, so far, after having been given 3 months to live.
He is the only survivor of an experimental treatment program of which the initial numbers were 101.
He was given a Blessing.
He was healed.

I heard him speak his testimony daily for months. As one of his sons has stated, no one can listen to Rick bare his testimony and NOT believe.

Within me, I kept a part of his testimony that only he and I were aware of. I had felt his struggles with the commandments. I had been one of the very tools that Satan used against him.

As my pre-baptismal lessons began, I began to comprehend just who I had been to him. I started to feel the pain of repentance and my contrition was immense, as the sins I had committed against the friend I loved with all my heart became apparent to me. My eyes were being opened, and I was disgusted what I beheld.

I apologized to him, and to his father. I wanted to apologize to each of his children for even the way in which I had looked at him. I just hadn't understood before this spring. Before I studied the commandments for myself, I didn't know just how wrong I had been.

He didn't ever steer me away from the church. In fact, when I went out to explore the country, he told me if ever I needed anything I could always go to The Church. But I fought against it. At that time, it was his "religion" that had kept us from being a couple.

In my immature mind, God had told me "no", and I was a rebellious child screaming "WHY NOT?!?!?!" and kicking and screaming. It took me a few years to calm down from that tantrum and listen to what God was trying to tell me.

As I traveled the country, I received many reminders of the church. I have told the story of Temples at every "wrong turn" as being "stalked by Christ". He was reminding me that He would be there when I was ready. And He was.

Through the last three years, Rick was there for me as well. Through texts and calls and late-night talks, he would tell me stories of his and his pioneer ancestors that inspired my further trust in God.

I now understand that he was sharing his ancestors' testimonies.
Those testimonies of Zera Pulsipher, and that of Clarance Larsen, both Seventies. He was sharing that he understood God.

But Rick remained away from the church, as I took the covenant of Baptism.

The day I was confirmed as a member of The Church, we talked  on the phone for the first time in weeks. As I progressed in my spiritual journey, in my scripture reading as well as my involvement in The Church; our communication grew more frequent once again.

This culminated in our being in a ward meetinghouse together last week. Where, among a few gathered sisters and members of the Brethren, I heard the man I call my best friend call me his lifeline and share his testimony of his return to The Church.

I thank God for the  friendship of this man I can now call Brother Larsen.

Only God understands the complicated people that we all are, and  to each of us He grants us the guides we need and those we can help.
I thank God for every one of the gifts He has granted upon me.  Some of those have been delivered through my best friend, Richard, and the Larsen family.

(note: this was written and published with Brother Larsen's permission)

But WHY the "Mormon Church"

I have heard people say that they understand my faith in God, but not my decision to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. They don't understand why I chose to be a Mormon.
A Latter-Day Saint.

First, I don't believe it was a choice. Even an ex thought I had already been a confirmed member of The Church six months before I had even read the Book of Mormon!

I have always been on this path. God chose me. It just took me 46 years to open my eyes.

I joke about having been "stalked by Christ", or more appropriately, by His Church. In my journeys across the country, I found myself stopping and pondering God in front of temples I had no clue even existed before happening upon them.

Books about the Mormon Trail fascinated me. A people who displayed their faith. And what faith it was, and is.

There are a few facts that I want to share with others, about some of my beliefs that finally found their home:

• The fact that Jesus Christ and God are separate, immortal beings and the Holy Ghost is a separate spirit entity.  
• That God did not cease communicating with us through prophets in the time of the bible. 
• We have a living prophet that receives revelation for the church in these times; his name is Thomas S. Monson.
• We have the right and the obligation to ask for personal revelation in prayer and to listen to the small still voice that is the Holy Spirit. 

I finished reading the Book of Mormon for the first time (just a read-through, I plan to go back and study it diligently after I finish the rest of the Standard Works) on April 30. I believe it to be another Testament of Jesus Christ. I prayed, and was impressed with the knowledge that it is.


The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is the only church that has ever felt like home. My children and my mother know how long I have searched for the truth. Many of my closest friends have seen my search as well.

I am finally at home.

Adult-converted Mormon older "mid-single" Woman AKA: just me

Adult converted older "mid-single" Mormon woman. What a mouthful, what a phrase. Stereotypes, anyone?

From the point of view of WEARING that particular label, as it were, I can ONLY tell you what it means, from MY point. The willing label-wearer.

I came from the background of a person who had a personal relationship with God, and had asked for Christ's assistance on MANY occasions. I also have been answered in one way or another, all my life.

When I desired to come closer to Christ; I asked in prayer how to achieve that goal. I was answered in a personal revelation.

Due to the fact that I sought out the church, rather than the church seeking me out (although some would argue this fact due to the simple truth that the church and it's fallen members seemed to haunt my life this past decade) I may have a different experience than many adult converts. I am only writing about what I personally know. This is MY take on MY conversion.

One of my biggest frustrations, currently, is etiquette.
WHERE is the handbook??? I feel like I am missing a required manual!!
I watch the Relief Society Presidency messages on MormonChannel.org. That helps, SOME. But not all.

What do I talk about, when?? With whom??? 
What is okay, what is going to get me looked at like I have purple spots and a green horn?!

Being a single adult older woman just entering a society that is so centered on family presents a set of awkwardness all it's own. It helps having my granddaughters in the church with the other side of their family being members.

Even before I joined, from fallen as well as current members, I heard the phrase, "the church is true, but the flock are human" or MANY variations such as "the Book of Mormon is true, but the flock have strayed".

Even as a new member, I STILL get the "flock are human" phrase ... sigh. I know we are all human. But, as a "flock", now that I am part of it, I think we need a new "tag line."

Can't we at least ATTEMPT to live up to being a "covenant people?"
I am doing my best. That, to me, is the most important part of my conversion: the COMMITMENT to LIVING the covenants I have made with the Lord!

I STRONGLY desire to live EACH one of the commandments; from here on out.

In that end, I desire to be around people with the same goals. To live up to the promises we made when we were baptized.

The commandments are very simple and well-laid out. In black and white. One thing I have been pretty good at, most of my life, is doing as I am told.

I rallied against it, yes. Sometimes rather loudly. God knows me well, He knows I have an opinion. So He gave me the gift of articulate communication.  It all comes out in the end. I do what I am told, then I either celebrate or complain; either way, I have an opinion about it. Some things never change.

Now, to the things that DO change.

For the last few years, especially since I have not been working at a state job (on disability since 2002); I have not worn a lot of dresses. The skirts that I HAVE worn, could barely be considered belts. 

This is something that not many of my church friends understand about me. Modesty has NEVER before now, been an attribute of my dressing.

Therefor, I first had to eliminate items from my wardrobe that I would no longer need. Halter tops and miniskirts and miniskorts went first. THEN came the underwear that is ONLY required for non-modest apparel (strapless bras, etc.).

Then, to purchase clothes. I was very blessed to have been gifted a few skirts by generous new church friends. Then came the issue that I would have to find something to wear UNDER them. Since I was unaccustomed to wearing skirts, I also owned no slips.

God answered my prayers with cooler weather: I could layer the skirts, since they were similar colors, and wait until my Social Security came in to buy a few slips at a thrift store. It worked wonderfully.

The silly practicalities of becoming the person that I want to be. God has filled my heart so completely with this change; that seeing people running around the streets not even close to how scantily dressed that I know I have been, embarresses me and humiliates me. I feel sorry that they don't honor just how special their bodies are.

This is so different for me. Many people will never understand. I hope some do. The "change of heart" that is spoken about by so many, including in the Book of Mormon; is SO true, and so wonderful.

In the end, I believe that those of us who CHOSE to come to the church as adults, have a LOT to offer the church. We bring with us an enthusiasm for the scripture and for a virtuous life. Many of us have tasted all we ever wanted and more of sin; we LONG for what many born into the church take for granted: righteousness.

We came to the church to fill that hunger, that longing, that had been there since we were born. We have come home.

How Did I Get Here: My Journey to the Church

I first visited a Mormon Church in Shelton when I was a small child. One of my mom's friends was Mormon, and was watching my brother and me on a weekend and we attended church with her and her family.

What do I remember about it? Not much, only that I had to have a long dress (I wore my Easter dress) and I ended up committing a horrid sin later that day on the way home (I used profanity) and my bottom got a beating. I was about 7 or 8 years old.

The next time the Latter Day Saints crossed my path, it was in the form of my best friend. I met him a bit over three years ago. His family had been in the church for many generations. He, himself had held many positions within the church, but his immediate family had drifted away from the church for various reasons.

When I met my twin granddaughters in July of 2010, just days before their second birthday, I was also given the information that their maternal grandmother, Mary, and their mother were members of the church.

My granddaughters were born into the church. It was a realization of an obligation on my part, but it took me another two and a half years to really recognize it. Their father, my son, had never been a part of their life, and it was for the best.  However, I intended to be a part of their life as much as I possibly could.

 

As I traveled across the country and back, visiting friends and learning about myself and my country as well as the people in this world; the church reminded me it was waiting for me. A "wrong turn" put me in front of the Twin Falls, Idaho Temple on such a gorgeous day while I was beginning a trip across the country in 2011, that I felt compelled to take numerous postcard-quality photos of it.



Then, on my way back to Washington in 2012, during a rather difficult part of a depressive state, I saw the Angel Moroni peaking above a hill next to the northbound freeway just north of Independence, Missouri and I pulled over and cried, having known the stories about the Mormon persecution in Missouri. It felt like a redeeming; that they made it back, and were NOT hiding. It was a wonderful feeling.

When I began reading about women motorcycle riders (riding is one of my great loves), I read a book called "Riding in the Shadows of Saints: A Woman's Story of Motorcycling the Mormon Trail" by Jana Richman and in it I learned about much of the history of the Mormon Trail as well as her journey away from the church.

I ended up renting a room from my best friend's sister's family after a horrid event in my life early this year, and I was interested in going to church with them. They were attending an LDS church. They invited me to go along, but every time I was getting ready to join them, the house ended up in upheaval and I shrunk back from the chaos, submitting to the unseen forces that were attempting to keep me away from the church.

When I ended up in a place by myself. I was gifted with time to pray and consider. I began researching the life of Emma Hale Smith, Joseph Smith's wife. Being a woman; I am drawn to the women. Especially the righteous and reverent moms. Their struggles pull at my heart. When I heard that she buried her sixth child on a February 7th, I cried tears upon tears; that is my daughter's birthday.

After considering her story, as well as the copy of of the Book of Mormon that I had downloaded, I prayed about which church is the true church. I knew that Emma had left the LDS Church and had been part of another church altogether.

I investigated, and found that the church that she spun off of the Mormon church, did, in fact, have a branch nearby. And they used the Book of Mormon still, as well. This confused the matter, for me. So, I was left to pray on the matter.

And pray I did. I called out to our Lord on my cold wooden floor of the attic room I was camping in. Lord PLEASE show me the way and the TRUTH!!!

I was answered. VERY directly.

You belong in the True Church. The True Church is that which your granddaughters are already a part of. Follow them so that you may one day lead them. Their very salvation depends on your choices.

Although I have felt the hand of the Holy Spirit in my life all my days, NEVER have I been directed and led so loudly.

I received another message that morning in that cold attic, as I knelt on the wooden floor:
If you do not convert and repent, you will no longer have the gracious guidance that the Holy Spirit has granted you thus far.

WHAT?!?!?!  NO more quiet voice to guide me?!?!?! I was terrified to loose my connection to Christ.

When I got up from my prayers; I immediately called Mary (my granddaughter's other grandma) and asked her if she could have missionaries from her church get me into contact with the right people so that I could learn more about the church that I was being called to, by the Holy Ghost, Himself.

You see, I had been calling every number that I could find on the Internet in my area for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, but there was no answer and no machine to leave a message; every number I called just kept ringing. UNTIL I prayed, and called Mary. I wasn't meant to make this change alone.

Mary was overjoyed at learning about my personal revelation. I felt a bond with her that I had never previously felt. Sisters in Christ, we were to become very soon.

That afternoon, I was visited by two wonderful and joy-filled sister missionaries. They brought me my own Book of Mormon, my first. Within a week, they had me on the path to baptism. My lessons became more frequent as my baptism neared, and with each lesson I became more excited.

It is almost embarrassing how much joy I have gotten from reading the scriptures. I literally feel euphoric when studying scriptures, both ancient and modern.

I keep a very detailed journal of my personal experiences, and soon I will share more from my spiritual journey as well, but for brevity's sake, I will say that the ENTIRE experience has been more enlightening that I EVER imagined!!!

My baptism was on March 23rd, and I was so thrilled to be confirmed as a member of my ward on the 24th.

The photo I am attaching is the Sister Missionaries with me at my baptism. I will always love these wonderful young women who have given me the most loving welcome to the true church that I could EVER imagine.
Not only did they begin my learning of the scriptures, with the Lord's guidance, they introduced me to one of the most wonderful friends I could ever imagine having.

Thanks to all of my new church family, as well as my friends and family who have been by my side during this confusing part of my transformation (I have keep many things "close to my vest" during this time).

Sending the white lighte of the Holy Spirit to all, so that perhaps some may also read, and know for themselves that The Book of Mormon is another Testament of Jesus Christ. I have prayed to know the truth, and I was told that I am on the true path of righteousness. I invite all to join me on that path. 

My Spiritual Journey

(originally posted on Slightely Maggie on 13 Mar 2013)

This is about me. Well, many things I write, and have written, have been about me. About my journey though this life. This is probably the most intimate glimpse I have ever given anyone.

I am giving it to anyone who wants to know.

For those who want to know why, Margaret Ellen Slighte, came to the decision to embrace The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints as her "church home."

I'm forty six years old.

I have tasted of any sin I may have desired, and many I never thought I could even stomach.

I am done. Done with sin. Done with living in any manner that is disrespectful to myself, my relationship with Jesus Christ, or that of God, the Father.

I desire to begin to live in a righteous manner. In a manner which is respectful of the relationship of my soul with the Godhead. With Christ, God, and the Holy Spirit, which I pray that I will be able to acknowledge how each have touched my life in every moment.

When do I remember my relationship with God, and Christ, beginning? What is my first "spiritual memory?" (What is YOURS? What do YOU remember?)

When I lived in Shelton (the first time), after my parent's divorce, my mother sent me to Sunday School against my father's wishes (he was an atheist, a LOUD one). I believe I was six or seven years old when this happened.
 

Margaret Ellen Slighte
1974

During one of the Sunday School lessons, we were singing the song "This Little Light of Mine" ( LIGHTE :) ) and I immediately felt a warm sunny feeling, but much brighter, around my "soul". It was my first conscious feeling of having a "soul". I knew there was a Christ. I also knew there were two other separate energies I felt: One of God, the Father as well as The Holy Spirit.

I have always known that we were all connected. I have always known that "good" or "holy" deeds brought more reward to my soul, than did "selfish" or "hedonistic" deeds.

During these nearly four years since the explosive destruction of my family, and my marriage on Father's Day 2009, I continued my disastrous and self-destructive behavior in a manner that was not only disrespectful to myself, it was also extremely public.

I have had times that the Lord has given me a glimpse of His comfort and glory. My travels across the country have been blessed with not only support of my friends, but also my Savior. My prayers have not gone unanswered. I have been given many gifts. I received them not with the grace I could, and should have.

Having displayed my sins so publicly, and with less than shameful appearances; I prayed whether, as part of my transformation, I should let go of any public exposure (social media). My prayers were answered that my contrition and apologies; my guilt and repentance be as public as I was with my sinful behavior.
Once my period of contrition is over, I will pray and re-evaluate which sites and accounts to retain, and which to discontinue.

When I speak of my sins, I learned the hard way that there is an adversary.

Evilhas worked it's way into my family since I was a very small child.

I have had agents of evil, and when I say evil, I mean the darkest of the dark, at work within my family for generations.

From the time my father's father submitted to the demons that haunted him, and ended his own life; our family has been haunted by evil.

My own father committed suicide around my birthday in 1999, 15 years after I last saw him. The abuse I sustained at his hands, as a small child can only be termed as evil. Then, as a young teenager, he made certain he instilled his lack of morality into my ideas. His constant guidance was down the wrong path. When I was becoming a mother, I KNEW I needed to distance myself from him.  I knew enough to keep my children from that piece of evil in my life. Unfortunately, I did not give them the gift of a righteous home to be raised in. For this I am very sorry.

In the last year, I discovered that the adversary will tempt us with that which we THINK we desire the most when we are at our lowest.

My teenage nephew committed suicide last summer, shortly thereafter I again went astray from a righteous path. I sought love and comfort from the evil that danced in front of me and begged me to join it.

I was to receive what I thought I desired, and instead of joy and elation that would be with truth and love, I felt instead the true stink and disgust of the sin, as a layer of scum, upon my soul.

Hedonism: self-love. I believe that we are divine. In the way that our Creator would not create anything LESS than divine. How I have treated myself and others around me has been so much less than divine.

The commandments are CLEAR, however, thou shall not worship anyone or anything except the one TRUE God. It may feel good for a little while, but the scum upon my soul is deep now.
I am in need of a baptism, a TRUE baptism and to exercise my own agency to choose righteous behavior which is respectful of myself and my relationship with Christ, and His Father, our Creator 

Throughout my life, whatever evils that I endured, and enjoyed; I KNEW right from wrong. 
I felt shame and disgust at some of my own behavior. What I DIDN'T understand, was how to change. I didn't respect myself enough, I didn't honor that I was a daughter of God.
Most of my life I allowed myself to be used in any way that the males around me desired to use me. I was disposable, right? WRONG.
I am a daughter of God. I deserve to begin to honor that.

My daughter, and my sons and my granddaughters and grandson deserve to be honored by me being a person who respects herself and who does her best to be righteous and respectful of our Father in Heaven.

I will continue to grow, and to learn, on my spiritual journey. I will expand and expound upon this, my journal of my relationship with my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. 

I invite anyone interested to do as I did, and look up the Book of Mormon, another Testament of Jesus Christ. It's online. Read it. Pray. Decide for yourself. I did.